My Life is a Kaleidoscope-Adoption and Putting the Fragments Back Together.

Fragmented moments really. That's what I mean by kaleidoscope. From childhood until now, my life has always been in pieces. Not that I'm upset about that, because I feel that all of those fragments have come together to help mold me into the woman I am today.

Let's take a step back for a moment, okay? Back to 1986 when I made my debut in this world.

My biological father was in the Army, stationed in Germany, my biological mother was a teen living in Germany. They met, fell in love, found out she was pregnant, got married...lived happily ever after.

Okay, the last part was a lie. They were both young, neither ready for such a committed relationship. Nobody told them just how hard life was as an adult, not to mention an adult with a family, a child...it was too much. Without going into too much detail, I'll sum it up with this: Not every whirlwind romance ends like a Disney movie. Not everyone lives happily ever after.

My grandparents on my Dad's side ended up adopting me and they became my parents. My Momma and Daddy. The two people who would've done anything for me..no matter what it cost them. They loved me unconditionally and looked at me as their own child. I was never their granddaughter, only their daughter.

Fragments.

I remember bits and pieces. The court house on the day of my adoption when the paperwork was finalized, I can't remember my exact age, but I was around 6 or so, I think. My life has always been colorful, most likely because of how eccentric I tend to be. I love colors and my imagination is as vivid as the colors that I love. My thoughts and memories are also vivid, and at times I have to wonder if it was my imagination distorting my memories, through the eyes of a child, my thoughts tend to vary from things I've been told. I suppose we all go through that at some point or another, but more often than not I feel that I'll never know the full extent of the truth. Perhaps that is for the best.

More fragments. My biological Dad always lived nearby, but our relationship was tumultuous. It was great when things were working out well between us, but as I got older (my teen years were rough) we distanced ourselves from one another. I take as much fault as I place blame for that and I can only hope that it will be repaired one day. I love my Dad, it's just hard to vocalize that. So many years of misunderstanding adds up and makes things difficult. Where do you begin? How do you repair something that you spent most of your life believing was irreparable?

 I have lots of good memories as well. Some of my favorite were simple, being held up as high as his arms could reach as he pretended to throw me into the sky, or put me on a tree branch high above the ground. Hanging out at his house, watching tv and just being together. His goofy cockerspaniel dog jumping at a mirror as he freaked out on his own reflection. I remember trips taken to amusement parks, his wedding to the love of his life and the woman that has changed him for the better. I still have the ring with the angels that they gave me on their wedding day. So many memories. Some good, some bad. The bad ones are more vivid. That tends to be the way life works, right? Those fights as a teenager when I thought he didn't know anything. Tears were shed, angry words exchanged. Those moments I wish I could erase, take them back. Make it as if they never happened. It came from a place of love, doing what he thought was best. Isn't that what every parent strives to do?

My birth mother, the unknown portion of my life that I desired to know more than anything. At 18 I took off to Alaska to visit her and my sisters. It was great for a while, but then it went horribly wrong and was heartbreaking. Every angry/hurt/bitter emotion that I could muster up was unleashed upon her in a fury of regretful words. It was bound to happen, but I wasn't ready for that moment and it left a sour taste in my mouth. I thought she'd hate me. That she'd be happy I wasn't her problem. But she waited, I'm sure it was excruciating to do so, but she seemed to have this understanding that I had no clue about. 

My grandparents were my constant, Momma and Daddy were and always will be my parents. Adoption or not, they raised me. They are my foundation. There were hard times there too, but nobody is perfect. They did what they could to raise me to the best of their ability. I was difficult. For years I felt I was damaged. Why didn't my parents want me? Why was I the only person in my class to have older parents? While everyone else was going on vacations with their families, I mostly got my vacation fix from summer camps that I got to choose. I was fine with that, but at times I was envious of those around me who went on adventures across the country or to other countries with their parents. I knew what I had and I was grateful to them for everything, even if I didn't always show it.

I wanted more than the small town I grew up in. I wanted out. I followed in my biological parents footsteps. I moved to Germany after marrying my first husband at 19. I soon became pregnant with our son. It was never meant to be. It failed and all I could think was, "I'm my parents, history is repeating itself." I felt like a failure and was bitter for a while over that.

More fragments. This time the memories are dark and marred with negativity. The one sliver of happiness was my son and I think he's what kept me going.

Fast forward a bit to my saving grace. My husband and my children. One with him and two I gained by falling in love with him, he completed my family that at the moment was just my first son and I. This will be a blog for another time, perhaps. But these kids and this man who I call my soul mate truly changed my perspective on life in general and saved me from myself.

You see, it took becoming a mother to finally understand. The thoughts I've had for years now, since motherhood first began, have swirled in my mind and brought with them understanding. I never thought I'd be capable of this amount of understanding and acceptance. Not when it came to my own life and the people who were key players in who I've become as a woman. At 29 years old, I feel that I've gained a true idea of what love is about. You forgive and you move on, you allow time to heal wounds and you look to the future.

My Momma passed away four years ago and it was one of the most difficult times in my life. It felt like without her my family fell apart. She was the glue that held us together and without her we went our separate ways and became content with that level of distance. I dealt with it, taking comfort in knowing that my husband and kids were always there for me. Out of sight out of mind, so to speak.

Then, she came back into my life. My birth mother. The one woman who was more of an enigma than anything else. I wanted to know her, to call her Mom. To have a relationship with her like my sisters do. But I was scared. I felt guilty. How can I have two mothers? How can I possibly love them both?

Easily. Once I let my guard down and accepted the fact that I'm adopted and my heart is big enough to love everyone in my life, unhindered, if only I give it a chance. It took me my entire existence on this earth to come to that realization.

Slowly our relationship over the course of the last year has been growing, long conversations on the phone. "Liking" updates on Facebook. Laughs, tears, frustrations...we're so much alike. I look like her, my Momma always told me that. We all look like her. My sisters and I. There's 5 of us total and it's obvious that we're sisters. I've gained relationships with both my Mom and my sisters. Something I never thought would happen. More fragments and colors to add to my kaleidoscope. Beautiful colors that help complete my life.

My husband has a wonderful family that has accepted me as part of their inner circle. They've stepped in, especially my Mother in law, as being a constant in my life. But now I have this part of my family that is not only enriching my life but also the lives of my children. I bring into this relationship, three grandmothers, My Momma and Mom, and a step-grandmother (my biological Dad's wife). I also have other women who I consider to be like motherly figures for various reasons and they just add to the chaotic mix that is my life.

My Mom can never replace my Momma, but that's okay. I'm completely fine with that. However, she can add new memories and hopefully those new memories will repair some of those old wounds that haunt my inner child.

This week, I will embark on what has been dubbed "An epic road trip" from Florida to South Dakota with my birth mother, Patty. Never in my life could I have predicted this happening. It's stirred up a mixture of emotions and thoughts, so much so that I needed to write. Writing is my outlet and I needed to pour my thoughts out. This isn't a bad thing. Not in the least. It's the most amazing thing to happen for my family and I. This is the trip that will drive us into a totally new beginning in our lives. A beginning that I've prayed and begged God for, for so long. It's a daydream in a sense. Is this real? No seriously..is this really happening? I've needed this. She's needed this. WE have needed this for years.

So there's that. I could write so much more but I think this is good for now. A cleansing of sorts.

When you look into a kaleidoscope there are so many colors, some bright, some dim. Those colors are cut into a variety of shapes. Upon first inspection those fragmented colors are just kind of strewn about. You hold it up to the light and you see just how beautiful those colors are. When you turn the kaleidoscope those colors begin to work together to create a beautiful abstract tapestry. It's only when all the key components work together that the true beauty comes into view.

Life is beautiful, isn't it?